


honey pot

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Deception, F/M, but i did not have the energy to write the actual sex scene, so just enjoy cleo flirting with zack while he tries not to die of fear on the inside, the Duke and the Countess fuuuuuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 10:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18222041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “I’m here on business,” he says, with enough ironic emphasis on ‘business’ to make her laugh delicately with amusement. Yeah, he’s certainly here to steal something, but it’s from her, and if she ever finds out that amusement is gonna get snuffed out and replaced with cold murderous rage faster than you can say imposter.





	honey pot

“Your grace,” she says, her black painted mouth sliding into a charmed and charming smile, warm and genuine on her typically cold face. “What’s a surprise it is see you here.” 

Zack takes her hand, glad that she won’t be able to feel how clammy it is through both of their silk gloves, his white and ending at the wrist, hers dark green and tapering off to an end past her elbows. “A pleasant one, I hope,” he says in the posh snobby voice Carmen drilled into him, his eyes on her emerald greens ones, framed by sharp eyeliner, as he bows over her hand and daintily brushes a kiss against her knuckles. 

“Why, of course,” she coos. 

They’re in a hotel. Not the familiar kind with vending machines and flickering neon signs, but the  _ classy  _ kind. A guy at the front had offered to take Zack’s car keys and he’d almost knocked the guys lights out for daring to try and steal his baby before he realized that he was wearing a hotel uniform and was probably one of those _ valet  _ guys he’s heard about. Rich people are freakin’ crazy. 

There are golden crenelations and polished wood and intricate wallpaper and free food out there for just anyone to take and people in smart uniforms ready to carry half a dozen suitcases for every one customer wearing a bespoke suit or cocktail dress. It is, in other words, the only kind of hotel that Countess Cleo would deign to visit. And they  _ need _ something Countess Cleo has, so here he is, play acting the charming and cultured Duke once again. He wants to wipe beading sweat from his brow, but her eyes are fixed on him, so he merely smiles _ (not too wide, Zack, like _ this) and hopes she doesn’t notice. 

“I’m here on  _ business,” _ he says, with enough ironic emphasis on ‘business’ to make her laugh delicately with amusement. Yeah, he’s certainly here to steal something, but it’s from  _ her, _ and if she ever finds out that amusement is gonna get snuffed out and replaced with cold murderous rage faster than you can say _ imposter. _ Faker. Poser. He shifts uncomfortably, but the Countess is luckily distracted by momentary tittering. “Will you be staying here long?” 

“I was thinking only for a night,” she says, “so many people to see in the world, things to take.” 

He obligingly chuckles with amusement in return, even as his mind spins with panic behind his mask. Only a night? That’s a real tight time frame to steal what they need from her… but on the other hand, it will mean less time to have to pretend to be the Duke. Less time to fail. 

“But,” she says, her lips a smirk, her eyes heavy on him, “I could perhaps be persuaded to stay the weekend instead, seeing as the company suddenly improved.” 

His mind races for a bit, and then he realizes that she means _ him,  _ and he abruptly feels like the sleek sports car he was imagining as his mind got its engine flooded. He can feel his awful ginger skin start to flush, and he flashes her his most I’m-so-debonair smile at her to try and distract from it. “You’re giving me the prize of your company so easily? Won’t you give me a chance to try and persuade you at all, Countess? A thief does love a challenge…” 

Zack’s mentally screaming at himself to stop trying to make this harder than it already is, but that  _ is  _ what the Duke would say, okay? He’s doing his best! The character’s just getting away from him a bit! The Duke is sleek and smirking and  _ out of his control. _ He feels like he’s helplessly watching someone cockily speeding towards an inevitable pile-up while he’s tied up and gagged in the backseat. 

The Countess blinks at him for a moment, and then she’s smiling and coyly averting her eyes like a flustered school girl and Zack is scrambling to hold onto his poker face in the face of her reaction. She is  _ pretty _ and  _ dangerous _ and _ Zack _ flustered a woman like _ her _ and holy shit he’s gonna die, no way he can get away with something like this, the sheer fuckin’ audacity of it. He’s running up a debt that the universe is gonna harshly call him up on at any moment now. 

“Please,” she says, meeting his eyes again, looking up at him through her lashes. “Call me Cleo.” 

“Then you simply must call me Zackariah.” 

He’s going to _ die in this hotel.  _

 

“We don’t know what the Countess is up to, and that’s the problem,” Carmen had said about a week ago. “Player’s noticed large scale movements from V.I.L.E troops and resources, clearly linked to her, but if we don’t know what she’s gearing up to do then we’ll have no way of counteracting it.” 

“Well how’re we gonna find out, then?” Ivy asks. “Ask nicely?” She snorts derisively. 

Carmen smiles wryly. “‘Nice’ is for commoners, in the Countess’ opinion. Manners are far more important.” 

_ “I actually have an idea for that,”  _ Player says, Carmen’s phone on speaker.  _ “Or more like a lead.”  _

“Spit it out!” Zack says. “I’m dying of suspense over here.” 

Ivy gives him a doubtful look as he crams a handful of cheetos into his mouth, and then reaches out and steals a handful from his bag to do the same. He scrunches up his face at her, but he’s too comfortable to get into a tussle with her right now anyways. Ivy’s noogies are _ merciless.  _

_ “V.I.L.E’s wised up to the fact that we’ve got an expert level hacker on our side--me, it’s me, I’m the amazing hacker--so they’ve started putting all of their most important info on wireless stuff that’s unhackable from a distance. I think that the details of their newest plan, whatever they’re trying to pull off now, is on a hard drive the Countess is keeping close to herself.”  _

“How close?” Carmen asks intently, eyes already sparkling with the challenge of it. 

“Around her neck.” 

Carmen pauses. “The Countess is a big believer of social conventions and personal space… I definitely wouldn’t be able to get that close to her without her noticing it and allowing me to do so. Which means, never.” 

“Yeah?” Ivy asks, a mischievous smirk tugging at her mouth as she glances between Carmen’s thoughtful frown and Zack, sprawled across the couch but suddenly wary. That smirk ain’t good news for anyone that it’s turned on, and currently it’s on _ him.  _ “I happen to know a guy that she might let get that close to her. But only if he brings his slickest moves with him.” 

“Who?” he asks. 

_ “Oh,” _ Carmen says, eyes widening with realization. She settles into that excited, challenging grin she gets when a plan starts to form in her mind. “That might just work, Ivy.” 

“Seriously, who!?” he asks, sitting up, curious and tense as Ivy and Carmen both look down at him. He’s got a feeling he’s not gonna like what comes next. 

 

The Countess is wearing spindly high heels that he doesn’t know how she manages to walk in, much less effortlessly  _ glide  _ in, a strapless dark green dress that goes down to her ankles with a slit going up one thigh, elbow length gloves, glittering emeralds on her ears and in her dark hair to match her eyes, a sheer shawl draped casually over her shoulders, but most importantly of all,  _ the necklace. _ It’s dark black onyx, not matching the rest of her outfit but not clashing either, and Zack knows for a fact that it ain’t any kind of pricey gem or stone at all, but a container that opens up. Inside it is what Carmen and them need to keep being a step ahead of V.I.L.E. 

His mission imperative: to do and say whatever it takes to get him close enough to unclasp that necklace and out of the hotel with him. 

He tries to classily sip at his champagne instead of desperately gulping it down. When the Countess--Cleo--had invited him to eat with her, he’d assumed it’d be at the fancy shmancy restaurant downstairs. Chandeliers, candlelight, the indistinct murmur of dignified conversation, nothing more boisterous than a good chuckle, the soft scrape of silverware, the rhythm of a waiter delivering them new and confounding courses far more disgusting and disappointing than anything Zack could get out of a food truck for less than ten bucks. He’d prepped for it with far more fervor than he ever had for any kind of real test or exam. 

Instead, he’s inside Countess Cleo’s hotel room. It’s big enough to comfortably house a family, and not just a small one neither. He’s on her black leather couch. Cleo is sitting on the same couch, a foot away from him, her legs crossed, one elbow on the back of the couch, hand propping up her chin with natural looking grace, the other hand holding her own flute of champagne, body angled towards him, eyes intent and smirk pleased. There’s an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne. There’s a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. 

He has no idea how he could’ve possibly prepped for this scenario. There’s no order of specialized forks to remember, no utensils at all. There’s no table spread, no other guests, no dances or songs. What are the rules? What’s he supposed to do now? He doesn’t know. He’s gonna put his foot in his mouth and she’ll see right through him in an instant. He’s doomed. 

“So, Zackariah,” she says, drawing out and putting emphasis on his name like she’s savoring the taste of it. It feels as much his as _ Duke  _ or  _ your grace _ does. He’s been Zack as long as he can remember.  _ Hey douchebag _ feels more natural. The look on her face as she purrs it and looks at him makes him feel hot and sweaty anyways. “You said you were here on business?” 

He is deeply relieved that she’s starting the conversation, and deeply horrified that she’s poking at the backstory that he’d thoughtlessly not put a whole lot of thought into. He delicately sips at his champagne, floundering for time. Unfortunately, a sip is, by definition, small and short and unsatisfying. He smiles gallantly as he opens his mouth to spew whatever bullshit he’s about to spew. 

“I’m here to acquire something for a client,” he says, forcing himself with an iron will not to look down at her necklace. She’d either guess his true motives and rip his throat out with her long manicured nails, or assume that he was checking out her goods and throw a drink in his face and then him off the balcony. Cleo may somehow think that he’s charming, but he’s not willing to test his luck any more than he absolutely has to. 

“Oh, hired work, is it?” She idly plucks one of the strawberries up from the tray and bites into it. Her lipstick remains unsmudged. Carmen doesn’t have the trick of that, she has to touch it back up after she eats. Ivy somehow manages to get it into her _ chin _ whenever she wears it. 

“I  _ do _ have expensive hobbies,” he says, desperately casting in his mind for rich hobbies that would fit. Whale… hunting? On yachts? Made of gold? “Not every job can be a personal passion project.” 

“It’s so rare to meet a man of your class who doesn’t turn up his nose at the idea of doing some actual work,” Cleo says, picking up another strawberry. Zack wonders if he should pick one up too? Or are those  _ her  _ strawberries? “Most dukes or barons I’ve met haven’t worked a day in their lives, soft bellies and softer hands.” 

Zack’s got kind of a beer gut growing, but it’s staved off for now by the fact that he’s in his twenties and wearing a cumberbund, which is basically like a dude corset you can only wear over a tuxedo, apparently. His hands though are definitely calloused underneath the white gloves. That had been the intention of them, to hide his ruddy tough knuckles, but it’s sounding like maybe Cleo would like them? It must get tiring constantly being surrounded by stuffy people. Cleo’s pretty stuffy herself, but she’s also obviously someone willing to get down and dirty. He can vividly imagine her killing someone (him) with her silk gloved hands. 

“I find our profession really isn’t the place for softness,” he chuckles, and what does that even mean? What is the Duke getting at? It just sounded like a cool one liner in his head, damn it. 

Cleo’s eyes sparkle. “Indeed.” 

And then she leans in, warmth pressed against him, and she holds the strawberry she just picked up to his mouth. His mouth falls open in shock immediately, which Cleo seems to take as him going along with this new direction with zero hesitation rather than eye bulging surprise. She pops it in, and he chews automatically. Chocolate. He swallows too early, and she grins at him, close to his face. 

“If we want to survive this life, we have to be sharp and  _ hard,” _ she says intently, her sharp nails grasping at a place that is suddenly very hard, holy  _ shit.  _

Definition. Of. Fear boner. 

_ Do whatever it takes to get at that necklace.  _

This is not what he had in mind, he thought he’d flirt some and catch her off her guard and this is going _way too far--!_

Cleo slides into his lap, all sharp easy movement. He looks up at her, the light haloing her head as she smirks down at him, all luxurious danger. He can’t look away from her eyes, even as the necklace dangles near his face. 

“I’m hope I’m not being too forward…?” 

“A thief,” he chokes out, barely holding onto his composure, his accent, “takes what they want.” 

She smiles, teeth white and sharp and predatory. 

Zack is officially a honey pot. 

 

The sunlight wakes her. She stretches without opening her eyes, feeling like the cat who caught the canary. It’s been so  _ long _ since she’s met a man worthy enough of spending a night with, and he truly had not disappointed. In fact, he’d only surprised and astonished. The Duke  _ \--Zackariah--  _ was a perfect gentleman, and a perfect _ beast _ in bed. The way he’d intently  _ pounded  _ into her… She smiles, satisfied. She opens her eyes. 

The bed is empty. 

Well. 

She sits up, keeping an ear out. No sounds of the shower running from the bathroom, no footsteps or breathing. The hotel suite feels empty, but for her. He left without a word while she slept. That’s-- 

She hears a paper crinkling sound, and looks down at the bed to see that where her fingers had been furiously digging into the bedding, there was a letter. She blinks the red out of her eyes and picks it up, smooths it out. The script is careful, deliberate cursive. 

 

_ Dearest Countess Cleo  _

_ Please do forgive me for leaving so discreetly, but you looked so peaceful where you slept that I could not bear to wake you. That, and I needed a head start.  _

_ No hard feelings,  _

_ Duke Zackariah _

_ PS: Last night was great.  _

 

Cleo realizes that her onyx necklace is missing. With all of the plans on it. The mission is ruined and she was _ fooled--  _

She kicks her legs girlishly and falls down onto the bed, holding the letter to her chest. Goodness, he makes her feel so _ young. _ No hard feelings. It was just business, just a job… but maybe he had accepted it so that he could see her again. He certainly didn’t have to take it so far to get that necklace off of her, he could have drugged her drink while she was turned around and taking her dress off. He _ definitely _ didn’t have to make it so  _ satisfying _ for her. 

It’s been so long since she was outsmarted by a handsome, charming man of good standing. A cunning equal, a brazen slight to her face, selling the info he stole from her to the highest bidder, like pulling a girl’s pigtail on the playground. Now  _ this  _ is flirting. 

Cleo is afraid that she may have just a bit of a crush. Of course, that’s always only made her be even more merciless. 

The Duke is doomed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there are a dozen drafts of that letter that Zack had to burn in the bathroom sink because he accidentally mispelled a word, fucked up the cursive, or called her 'hot as hell' and asked her if 'it was as good for you as it was for me baby' and 'please don't kill me'. He felt real rotten about sneaking out like that! He's a douchebag but not a DOUCHEBAG.


End file.
